


the only truth is death

by crookedspoon



Series: Tentatodd Week 2020 [3]
Category: Injustice 2
Genre: Bad Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hand Jobs, How Do I Tag, Human Experimentation, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mind Control, POV Jason Todd, Tentatodd Week 2020, Trash Fic, Tumblr: Tentatodd Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "Your species is a short-lived one - its death final." The pincers at the end of one of Brainiac's tendrils trace the thick Y-shaped scar tissue on his chest. "And yet somehow you have come back to life. That makes you a specimen worthy of study."
Relationships: Brainiac/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Series: Tentatodd Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701706
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Jason Rare Pair Challenge





	the only truth is death

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 "Aliens & Outer Space" at tentatoddweek. Another instalment in "ancient ideas I'm finally throwing out there because why not?" No time like the present.
> 
> Honestly, idk how to tag this. This has Saw levels of gore, though none of it is self-inflicted. Just fyi, in case that's not your thing and you'd rather stop reading now.

Jason didn't set out to save the planet from Brainiac - that's hero business, not his. All he wanted was to protect the citizens of Gotham from the never-ending army of Brainiac's Betas that was swarming the streets.

But not even that he could do.

Perhaps the news that even Batman had been defeated by this alien invader had broken something inside of him after all, even if he didn't want to believe it. Batman never gives up. He is larger than life. It's impossible to imagine that he could ever fall.

No, he can't think that. He's no impressionable little Robin anymore. He can do things that even Batman can't. So why shouldn't he be able to kick this son of a bitch's ass?

.

Brainiac's gleaming metal tendrils are crushing the air out of his lungs. He's grunting with effort just to find some wiggle room. There is none. 

Fuck, he's not gonna die here, not like this - not without taking Brainiac down with him. He's gonna find his way out and then he's gonna show this alien freak what he's made of. Brainiac is gonna learn what every criminal in Gotham already knows: no one messes with the Red Hood.

If only he weren't quite so naked.

"So you call yourself the Red Hood," the host himself says, floating into the room on his techno-tendrils. "An interesting choice, given your history."

"And what do you know about my history?" Jason spits. _Come closer, you bastard, so I can strangle you with my bare thighs._

"Everything," Brainiac says simply. "Through my neural network, I have access to every database on Earth."

"Well, good luck finding anything about me. Officially, I died ten years ago."

"I know. The so-called Batcomputer was particularly enlightening on that front." 

Jason sneers. Of course Bruce would document everything that had happened in his glorified diary.

"That is why you are here."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Your species is a short-lived one - its death final." The pincers at the end of one of Brainiac's tendrils trace the thick Y-shaped scar tissue on his chest. "And yet somehow you have come back to life. That makes you a specimen worthy of study."

"I'm not some insect you can pin to a board and dissect at will."

"On the contrary," Brainiac says, his white eyes luminous but devoid of emotion. "That is exactly what you are to me."

Jason's vision darkens as a cloud of wiggling tendrils descend upon him. Needle-like the thinnest of them penetrate Jason's skin and push inside him like parasitic worms. Jason would have screamed if he could have moved his throat enough to do so. Tendrils are lodged inside his chest and neck. Only weak groans that are barely audible escape him now.

He grits his teeth against the burning sensation; it feels as though the tendrils were dissolving into liquid fire beneath his skin, although looking down at himself he can see that is very much not the case.

Not an inch of his skin seems to be neglected by them. In neatly spaced rows they plunge into him like into the world's largest pincushion. He can even feel them branch out into his face. But nothing beats the horror of seeing those thin, semi-sentient wires push into the veins in his balls and in his cock. Because they don't stop wriggling once they're inside of him, and despite the intense discomfort that brings, every patch of skin is thrumming. Hypersensitivity is setting in and even beads of sweat feel like the caress of a gentle finger as they're running down his body.

Jason can't believe he's hard under these circumstances, and the only conclusion he can come to is that the wires prop up his length. That thought is nowhere near as comforting as he wants it to be.

"Your body will relinquish its secrets to me," Brainiac says. 

His words barely register over the rush in Jason's ears. At this point, he can't even be sure if that's still his blood that's pumping through him. It feels more like lava to him.

Just when Jason thinks he may have gotten to the point where all of his body hurts the same, so it's easier to push the pain aside, two more wires wave towards him. They're as thick as two of his fingers and their tips are flashing with purple sparks.

Jason's body jolts as they attach themselves to his temples, sizzling with electricity.

He does scream this time, even though no sound makes it past his lips. His head is ringing, rattling loose memories he thought long buried, and his stomach rolls with an echo of the emotions that are still attached to them.

When his eyes are not rolling back in their sockets, Jason can make out holographic projections of lists and charts and other data that Brainiac is analyzing as they change.

"Lazarus Pits?" he hears Brainiac say, almost as if his voice were inside Jason's head. "Interesting. I shall add them to my collection."

All of a sudden, the electricity stops surging through Jason's head and the rest of his body.

Jason slumps forward, held up only by the thick tendrils that bind his wrists and legs. The inside of his head feels big and empty. His cheeks are wet. So is the rest of his body. His skin is cold even as his veins are on fire. His muscles won't stop twitching.

He will die here, he knows it - or maybe he remembers knowing it - and he's not strong enough to stop it. _I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you._

"You can begin the dissection now," Brainiac says, much to Jason's confusion. They're alone. Or does he have an accomplice? Did Grodd return? 

Footsteps approach him. The closer they come, the clearer Jason can make them out over the clanking and whirring of Brainiac's skullship. He tries to lift his head to see who's there, and when he manages to catch a glimpse, he flinches.

"No," he breathes.

Walking towards him with measured steps is Batman. The sight of him does not fill Jason with relief or even hope, however. Rather, it dashes any hope he could have had.

Batman's armor is suffused with glowing purple highlights, the same shade as Brainiac's, and some strange sort of headgear attached to his skull suggests he's being mind-controlled, if not taken over by a nano swarm completely.

Dread fills Jason from head to toe, especially as his eyes fall toward the knife in Batman's hands.

Batman continues moving forward until he's nearly nose to nose with Jason and the tip of his blade touches Jason's chest. His breath is hot against his skin.

"B-Bruce," Jason tries to say but his voice sounds so thick and broken, he can't be sure it got through to him. Jason _has_ to get through to him. 

_You're alive._

That has to count for something. It has to.

Jason grunts. Pain blossoms in his chest and as he looks down, he can see the knife in Batman's hand slicing open his skin, using his autopsy scar as guidance. Jason's eyes flick up to B's face as if to implore him to stop, but it's more than just impassive. Impassive would have meant Bruce is his usual stubborn and unreadable self. 

The reason B's face is unreadable now is because there's nothing there. Even his eyes are empty.

"Please, Bruce," Jason croaks, even though it hurts to speak, "you must still be in there. Fight it."

The knife slides lower than the path his scar prescribed, down over his navel and toward his groin, skin splitting open on either side. Panic is gripping Jason. His breath is coming in short, sharp bursts. Absurdly, Jason fears that Bruce might slice open his open his still-erect cock, too, as if that were in any way worse than having his torso bisected.

Jason's limbs are trembling. Every muscle in his body is tensing up even though it's shifting around the tendrils in his skin. Despite that, he feels a curious numbness spreading throughout him, first only in his extremities, then closer to the center. He doesn't hurt as much as he should be hurting, and he barely bleeds at all.

His heartbeat has slowed to a crawl, even though Jason could have sworn it had been galloping wildly in his chest until just now.

Jason follows the knife with his eyes, watching as it cuts through his pectorals and lays his chest open. It's like a video feed from a first-person perspective, nothing he can believe is happening to himself in real life.

He's had dreams like this, waking up in the middle of his autopsy, unable to move and indicate that he's still alive. Sometimes it's Bruce in those dreams, sometimes the Joker, other times just faceless strangers. 

But he always woke up from those dreams.

Why is he still not waking up?

(He knows why, he just doesn't want to face it. Bruce never felt so real in his dreams, or so lifeless at the same time.)

"You gotta - snap out of it," he tries to implore him again, but his words don't seem to reach Bruce.

As Bruce finishes the last incision, tendrils writhe toward Jason and pull the skin flaps apart with their pincers. He suddenly feels cold in places he shouldn't be feeling much at all.

What makes this scene even more horrifying is that Jason can watch how his lungs expand and contract with his panicked breathing. And if that weren't enough, his guts are being pulled out of their cavity and scanned, the tendrils extracting them now covered in gore and nearly indistinguishable from Jason's intestines.

Jason wants to be sick. He wants to be sick but can't.

He sucks in a sharp breath as he suddenly feels something touch his cheek. Pins and needles explode across his skin.

Bruce. Bruce is touching his face. Did he... did he get through to him?

"Interesting," Brainiac comments. For some reason, Jason had already forgotten he is here as well. "A father's touch does still have effects on the human body even when it is pushed to extremes. I did not anticipate this kind of effect, however."

From the corner of his eyes Jason can vaguely make out that Brainiac is examining his holographic charts. He wonders if those readouts are feedback from whatever the tendrils inside his skin are monitoring - that is, if they are monitoring anything.

"It is a variable I had not considered before."

Bruce's touch vanishes from Jason's cheek, only to reappear on his cock, and Jason gasps. To his great shame, arousal spikes through him much sharper than before - the arousal that Brainiac must somehow have measured, or he would not be adjusting Bruce's response accordingly, to get more data.

Jason would like to defend himself and say it was no surprise that his body reacted that way, given how raw his nerve endings are, but even if that were the case, nothing about his situation is not fucked up. Jason is naked and sliced open with his guts hanging out, and yet he's hard despite all that.

"I've got you, Jason," Bruce says, and this time, the pleasure that rolls through Jason is at odds with everything that's going on, but it's still there nonetheless. And it's not the result of a physical sensation. 

Or not only.

Jason knows this is all still Brainiac because Bruce's first instinct would not be to touch Jason, but he can't fathom how he knows exactly what Jason wants from Bruce.

"I have downloaded your mind earlier," Brainiac says, as if he can read Jason's thoughts. "It gives me insight into what you may be thinking at all times."

Well, that's not creepy.

"The restorative powers of the Lazarus Pit are quite remarkable. It seems your body functions in much the same way as it did before your death."

Jason is pretty sure he would have died from getting penetrated by a myriad of wires or from having his chest sliced open, but okay, maybe he's still alive because of some weird, futuristic alien science.

Jason is panting now. He feels so sick. But he doesn't want to think about it. If he thinks about it, he's going to think about how he would be able to watch his stomach contract as he's being sick. And that is going to make him be sick. Which is what he wants to avoid.

He'd much rather feel sick about enjoying Bruce's touch. About getting off in the midst of this. Even if it's not really Bruce at all who's getting him off.

Though what Jason wants most of all is to wake up. To have this nightmare be over already. To be able to get back to a life in which Bruce's mind is not enslaved to Brainiac, and he not pinned and dissected like an insect.

"Do not fear," Brainiac's voice rings through his head as Bruce strokes him to a peak. "Any death you experience here will be controlled and impermanent. I am not done studying the Lazarus Pit's effect on you."

It's the last thing Jason hears before Bruce thrusts the knife through Jason's bared ribs straight into his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Humanicide" by Death Angel.


End file.
